


Where the Daylight Begins

by KimliPan



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Fireside Kissing, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3966847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimliPan/pseuds/KimliPan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur tossed the twig he was twisting in his fingers into the fire, earning Merlin’s returning attention; the sorcerer’s eyes, drawn to the motion, moved down at Arthur’s hands. He watched them as one slid up against his cheek and tilted Merlin’s face up... In which Merlin and Arthur share an intimate moment at the fireside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Daylight Begins

**Author's Note:**

> I've worked myself into a rut trying to finish my rough draft for aftercamlann, so I wrote a little fluffy drabble to get my juices flowing again.
> 
> No real purpose, just fluff!
> 
> Title from Vienna Teng's "Harbor"

Merlin sat with his rump in the dirt, resting his weight on his elbow as he leaned back on the log where Arthur sat above him. The other man gazed into the fire, tired and ragged. From beneath Arthur, Merlin may have seemed to be looking up at him, but his eyes were foggy, further off – as if he had distracted himself by looking up at him, but got lost in thought somewhere along the way.

It wasn’t often that Arthur let the scruff on his face become much more than barely visible. Though Merlin liked the usual clean, polished look of his king, there was something visceral in Arthur after a few nights on the move, his face scratchy and moist with sweat and effort. And with it, Merlin loved the way the weight of leadership tightened his jaw, sharpened the corners – but even more so, Merlin’s real affection laid in the loosening of his posture at a night’s end, the rest of the men abed with just the two of them to keep guard.

Arthur tossed the twig he was twisting in his fingers into the fire, earning Merlin’s returning attention; the sorcerer’s eyes, drawn to the motion, moved down at Arthur’s hands. He watched them as one slid up against his cheek and tilted Merlin’s face up for a soft kiss.

Intimacy like this was generally reserved for the privacy of Arthur’s tent. Late-night guard duty was usually spent sitting across the fire from each other, Merlin chattering while Arthur tried in the long, dark hours trying to get him to shut up. Tonight, however, they found themselves unwinding from a particularly perilous trip, and it seemed the real danger lulled them both into a silent appreciation for what they had.

Merlin moved to his to his knees so he could tilt his head back and deepen the kiss, but he was rewarded only with an immediate recoil from Arthur who was probably ashamed by their open display.

The sorcerer’s hands moved to the outsides of Arthur’s thighs, rubbing them affectionately and encouragingly as he laughed up at his companion.

“You fought bravely, Arthur,” he said, conjuring no malice in his mirth. It was warm, loving. _You earned this_ , is what he meant to say, though he wouldn’t, not out loud.

Arthur looked away, and Merlin had to admit the blush on his cheeks and the pinkness at the tips of his ears betrayed the king’s shyness, not shame.

“It’s not like it’s anything they haven’t seen before,” Merlin went on to add, poking at Arthur’s sides.

“You can’t poke the king, Merlin.” There was never much meat to Arthur’s lectures.

Merlin reached up and cupped Arthur’s face in both of his hands, coaxing his eyes, his mouth, his furrowed brows, into view. He licked the inside of his bottom lip as he marveled at the rough, sharp, handsome face, hot from fire and blood, and handsome from life-long strength.

“I can poke whoever I damn well please,” he contested, and he won the argument with a small, breathy half-smile as his prize.

They kissed in the firelight.

And in the end, the night watch was kept by a sorcerer’s sleeping head resting in the lap of the king, his hand idly stroking dark hair as the sun came up and the birds began to sing.


End file.
